No Witness, No Case

by Bill Robertson

  Teresa’s throat felt dry. Reduced to this simple, stark account, the magnitude of her journey jarred painfully. ‘Yes,’ she said hoarsely. Swallowing, she said again, ‘yes, that is correct.’ This time, strong and clear.

  ‘Andy, I understand your involvement arises from an interest in a truck fire near your farm. That fire led you to Aldrittson Waste Disposals and the discovery of criminal behaviour connected to waste disposal. Through AWD, Pescaro forms a common link between you and Teresa. As we understand it, Jack Aldrittson and Giuseppe Pescaro are partners in the unlawful disposal of toxic waste. Have I got that right?’

  ‘Spot on,’ said Drummond. He appreciated the way Tavistock dealt with his and Teresa’s relationship.

  ‘Let’s now run through the main segments of discussion. Firstly, the Pescaro empire. We’ll need all the details you know about its various associations and relationships in Victoria, other states and overseas. We’ll want to know everything about the money trail: what, who, how and where money is concealed. Then there’s the protectors – banks, accountants, lawyers, investment advisors and others, including government officials. Secondly, we want to investigate the murders of Angelina Pescaro and your father Alfredo. Thirdly, there is the long running partnership between Pescaro and Jack Aldrittson and their waste disposal practices. We need to know the clients, how the scam works, who in the firm is involved, the nature of the dumped wastes, dump sites, what kind of money is involved and how it is handled. There are likely to be considerable tax, environmental and health implications flowing out of this part of the investigation. Fourthly, we understand you have information about Mr Ben Aldrittson, MP, and his involvement in bribery and corruption and the concealment of crime. Finally, we believe that you, Teresa, can provide insight to a group of Russian Vors who entered this country under false identities and who may be engaged in murder and other crimes here.’

  ‘And, most recently,’ Teresa interposed, ‘we have information strongly suggesting the Russian boss, Valentin Chernamenko, is engaged in sex slave trafficking. That’s come to light in the last week or so.’

  Tavistock scratched his chin. ‘Hmmm, the feds will be interested in that, don’t you think lads?’ He threw an enquiring look at his two Commanders. ‘Teresa, do you know if Chernamenko was responsible for the deaths of Dominic Fabrizzi and Emilio Barracusa?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain, but Giuseppe and I believe so. Even with his resources he’s been unable to find actual proof.’

  ‘What about Bernardo Santini? Was Chernamenko responsible for that death too?’ Tavistock watched her thoughtfully.

  She paused before answering. ‘Maybe, but personally, I always believed that somehow, that was down to Ben Aldrittson. Santini warned Giuseppe that he thought Aldrittson was up to something and I know at that time, Santini was pressuring Aldrittson over the waste scheme. I don’t know any more than that.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll certainly explore that. By the way Andy, I understand we have you to thank for changing our focus on the investigation of Santini’s death. Paul tells me that without your information we may never have suspected homicide. The charge which blew the wheel off Santini’s car was expertly done and the collision very effectively masked it. Well done.’

  Teresa studied Tavistock’s face intently.

  ‘Before we leave the Russians, there is something bothering me. As I’ve said, Giuseppe believes Chernamenko ordered the murders of Dominic and Milo. He also believes Chernamenko is getting his intelligence from someone inside the Family. Recently, he put Ed Masseria to work organising a large banquet and although I can’t be certain, I’d be willing to bet he now knows the identity of Chernamenko’s inside contact. This banquet signals their impending demise, an event which could happen any time between the night of the feast to twelve months later. Now, I assure you, I know nothing more. Giuseppe has played this card face down the whole time and kept me at a distance. All I can say is, I have a bad feeling about it.’

  Drummond saw this news displeased Tavistock. ‘Okay, we’ll start work on that tonight. Do you have any more little grenades like that Teresa?’ His smile softened what otherwise was an acerbic remark. She shook her head determined to say nothing about her letter to the Herald Sun.

  Throughout their discussion Tavistock was calm and reassuring. Drummond’s impression was that little escaped his notice. He was impressive and his manner towards Teresa impartial and non-judgemental, qualities Drummond suspected some coppers could never have brought to a meeting like this given her background. Tavistock was quickly earning his respect and clearly showed integrity.

  ‘Okay, why don’t you begin from the start Teresa. Tell us how you got mixed up with Pescaro and the Aldrittsons; flesh out for us some of the events in which these gents have been engaged.’

  Relating the tale she first told Drummond and then the Mauds, she added detail after detail, giving examples of where and how monies were invested: banks, countries, trusts, shares, businesses, lawyers, accountants, investment firms, consultancy firms, PR companies, corrupt police and government officials. She explained the overseas money trails, affiliations with Australian and overseas Mafia interests and provided the names of Pescaro’s personal contacts in the USA, Europe, England, France, Italy, Colombia, Panama and Pakistan. Additionally, she was able to link these contacts to joint “business” ventures which benefited Pescaro to the detriment of other countries. She also knew the flip side of that process in Australia.

  The reach, breadth and diversity of Pescaro’s criminal empire was staggering. It comprised a vast and intricate web of legitimate businesses that laundered and grew the bulk of the illegal income through several very helpful banks. As a black economy, Pescaro’s total annual turnover rivalled the Victorian Government’s annual budget, yet little of it was properly taxed. A veritable army of accountants and lawyers had become sleek and fat defending, extending and ensuring that Pescaro’s tax, and other government charges, were minimised to the smallest, legally payable amount. Throughout Teresa’s narrative, Tavistock, Donovan and Danniellson, tested, probed and sought clarification.

  At seven o’clock meals were delivered. The relief was welcome. Teresa’s story, so vividly told, was depressing. The justice system, it seemed, was ill equipped to deal effectively with an empire as large and financially powerful as Pescaro’s. An empire whose overarching strength lay in the power to corrupt, subvert, influence and consolidate by cash or intimidation, including murder. As a last resort Pescaro’s guardians fell back to endless, labyrinthine legal proceedings fought on technical and theoretical points of law which they were prepared to pursue to the High Court of Australia.

  While Drummond thought he had heard most of Teresa’s story, he had never fully appreciated the depth of her knowledge. For the first time in his life, he found himself in agreement with Mary Maud’s loathing of politicians. As Teresa’s endless supply of detail unfolded he concluded that politicians and governments were not fair-dinkum about dealing with crime. Too often it was an election tool used to manipulate fear or create diversion in the pursuit of votes. Years ago he had read Justice Athol Moffitt’s book, A Quarter to Midnight, The Australian Crisis: Organised Crime and the Decline of the Institutions of State. From Teresa’s experience he now drew lamentable confirmation of all that Moffitt had warned against and to which few, seemingly, had listened. Proof lay in the consolidation of a hideous drug trade, unbridled corruption and the growing power of not only the Mafia, but the Russian Mafiya as well.

  In a surreal way, Drummond felt he was in a parallel universe and wondered if it was this weird feeling that was responsible for what he felt was a benign approach to law making. The bulk of the community were not grievously injured by Pescaro’s activities. In the main, serious violence was confined to other criminals and stayed between criminal elements. On the other hand, few were untouched by the effects of Pescaro’s criminality: environmental carnage, rising insurance premiums, increased commodity prices, burglaries, delays
replacing stolen goods, escalating government charges, laws which perpetuated criminal conduct, corrosion of principle, declining standards and the death of professionalism and acceptance of responsibility in so many small ways. Not to mention the huge cost in human, health, economic and industry terms from the drug trade alone.

  Army life had exposed Drummond to graft, corruption and improper influence, but never to the extent he was now hearing. He better understood why Teresa had said she felt dirty and ashamed for remaining with Pescaro. But the irony was that in staying with him, she could now hand these policemen the inside workings of his empire and provide insight to the presence and practices of the Russian Mafiya in a way that would not have happened otherwise.

  In this regard, Drummond saw afresh how dignified and courageous she was in co-operating with police. With a start, he realised Tavistock was wrapping up. He looked at his watch, Christ, it was nine o’clock.

  ‘Andy, we’ll have to deal with you separately I’m afraid,’ Tavistock was saying. ‘Teresa has an encyclopaedic knowledge and we haven’t even come close to reaching you tonight. But I think, given the hour and your experiences today, we should call it quits. It will take a long time to deal with everything Teresa knows and it’s fair to say that in my thirty years of policing, I have never encountered anything quite like this. We’ll now be setting priorities, choosing the right specialists, working with the Office of Public Prosecutions and looking hard for compromise in our own camp. Our goal is to smash the Pescaro empire, dismantle its infrastructure, run down every conceivable source and repository of cash and appropriate any and every asset we can find. They must have little or no prospect for regeneration. If we are to achieve that, I want as few people as possible knowing we are talking to you. I propose to put you in a very safe place tonight and enter you into protection tomorrow under the emergency provisions. The formalities of a full application will take a little longer.

  ‘One thing David,’ queried Drummond. ‘I’ve got a farm to deal with, a unit here in Melbourne and numerous things to organise and close off. Could I join Teresa in say, a week or ten days?’

  Tavistock looked unhappily at his two Commanders but said, ‘Let me give that some thought. We’ll meet here at ten tomorrow morning and talk it through. Rob will pick you up and Paul will take you to your destination tonight. You’ll find everything you need where you are going,’ he smiled at them both, ‘we had a little inside help. This interview is now concluded at 9:10 p.m.’

  Chapter

  FIFTY- EIGHT

  Fox and Johnson sat in the sheltered forecourt of Amarello Restaurant at St Kilda beach. They had been for their usual contest at the pool nearby which resulted in the usual outcome. The morning light was soft, the air crisp and the sea hushed: it was one of Melbourne’s wonderful July mornings where the union between temperature, sunlight and sea air creates magic.

  ‘What did you think of the article in The Age this morning Spence?’ Fox asked thoughtfully.

  ‘Curious. You told me the other day you saw Chernamenko and Aldrittson together at Ruffles and now, Chernamenko’s incarcerated, courtesy of the Immigration Department. I wonder how that happened?’ Johnson’s tone was flat, the look on his face cynical.

  ‘Don’t know but I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if Aldrittson engineered it to protect himself. He was obviously intimidated by Chernamenko. The real question is: why was he meeting him in the first place? But you’re right, it’s odd. We know things are going on, like Aldrittson wanting Marchese dead. Then, hey presto! Her house disappears in flames and she’s missing, presumed dead. We also know about the friction between Pescaro and Chernamenko, and wham – Chernamenko is detained.’ He lapsed into silence.

  Johnson sipped his coffee.

  ‘You know,’ resumed Fox, ‘on reflection, Pescaro could have arranged this to rid himself of Chernamenko. It all seems just a bit too convenient.’

  Johnson began to laugh. ‘There’s another theory Foxy. Don’t you give any credit to Federal authorities having done this by themselves?’

  Fox joined Spencer’s laughter. ‘What? After our Government threw one of our Australians – Vivian Alvarez – out of her country claiming she was a foreigner? And in another case using a detention centre to hold Christina Rau, a mentally ill Australian woman in the belief she was a refugee? Who do you reckon carried out those investigations? You’ve got to be kidding!’

  They were discussing the front page story of The Age which proclaimed: Forged Identities Threaten Australia. The story alleged that four Russian criminals with long, violent histories had destroyed their Russian police records and lied about their character to enter Australia. According to the article, all four men were criminally active in Victoria. Allegations included intimidating and extorting Russian émigrés, murder, drug dealing, prostitution and sex-slave trafficking. Department of Immigration officials and Federal Police had swooped on the men in simultaneous raids on Sunday morning. They had been arrested and taken to the Maribyrnong Detention Centre pending the outcome of a deportation application by the Department. The story implied that deportation was likely since the prime qualification for entry, good character, had been breached, continuing criminality was alleged and none of the Russians were minors. All had lived in Victoria for periods of two to six years. A spokesman for the Department reportedly said that if the application was successful, the detainees would be back on their own home soil within two weeks of their arrest.

  In his library, Pescaro sat with The Age across his knees. He had just hung up from Ed Masseria after organising a gift to the Italian Embassy official and to thank Masseria for his prompt action. He was pleased. His phone rang again.

  ‘Pronto.’

  ‘You think you can do me this Pescaro? You are dead man, just like the woman. Watch you sleep from now on!’ Chernamenko’s thick accent hissed venomously. Pescaro had expected a response, but not from Chernamenko personally.

  ‘So, it was you who killed Teresa. Filth! Enjoy your plane ride. I am about to eradicate the rest of your clan.’ Giuseppe heard the phone at the other end gently replaced. Threats were nothing – he had lived with them all his life. They were an occupational hazard and needed to be managed. He started on this one straight away.

  ‘Argolia.’

  ‘Frankie … Giuseppe. Put surveillance on the other four Vors now. I want matters finalised by the end of this week in the way we discussed. Use only your most trusted on this. Anyone who talks will personally answer to me. Questions?’

  ‘No Don Pescaro, I know what to do.’

  ‘One more thing. You know about my itch in the country?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m right up to speed.’

  ‘I want you to scratch it … permanently.’ Pescaro’s tone was steely and unequivocal.

  At 1:30 that same afternoon, Aldrittson’s phone rang.

  ‘Ben, Graeme Meadows. Drop everything and come and see me. Now!’ From the tone of voice Aldrittson knew immediately that Meadows was seriously pissed off. He hoped it was nothing to do with the waste submission, he had worked his arse off to get the bloody thing ready.

  He rose from his desk, slipped into his coat, combed his hair and checked his tie. He looked good. When he arrived at Barraclough’s sanctum, unusually, Celia was waiting by the Premier’s door to usher him straight through. Her face was as dark and irritated as a Darwin storm. Not a good sign. He walked into Meadows’ office, piqued with curiosity.

  Meadows, standing in front of his desk, looked haunted. He was quivering with anger. He said with icy calm, ‘I’ve just had the Herald Sun’s Rosslyn Zimmer on the phone. She’s working up a story about you and wondered what I had to say about a few things. To be frank, I had nothing to say because I was gobsmacked by her allegations. I rather hope you might be more enlightening. Unfortunately, we both know that two things are absolute with Zimmer: there is always powerful substance behind what she’s investigating, and, with incredibly rare exceptions, no one survives her razor.’
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  ‘Yeah, so what is she alleging?’ Nothing passed through Aldrittson’s radar that caused him concern. His problems outside Parliament were rapidly taking care of themselves: Teresa was dead, Chernamenko had been snaffled by Immigration, Pescaro was on side with the submission and the firm would soon be in steady hands again because Old Jack was at last recovering. His reversal of fortune had all occurred since standing in this office only last Thursday, a mere four days ago.

  As Meadows continued in the same controlled manner, Aldrittson realised that he was not just angry, he was seething.

  ‘Zimmer is alleging that for much of your parliamentary career, and all your time as Minister, you have been on the take.’ He spat the words like darts. ‘That you dispensed favours, received and solicited huge commissions, bankrupted local companies, blackmailed people, bribed and cajoled a multitude of officials and, to cap it off, she claims you own a series of secret accounts in Switzerland. She even had the names of the banks. As I said before, Zimmer’s research is impeccable and none of the attacks she’s launched on us, none of them, have been without foundation.’ Meadows’ voice was laced with contempt.

  After some moments Aldrittson corralled his rampant thoughts and said weakly, ‘Newspaper talk Graeme. Where’s her evidence? I’ll sue the bitch,’ he said as an afterthought. In the Premier’s eyes, he was guilty. With the clarity of a man before a firing squad, Aldrittson saw he was doomed. Nothing would convince Meadows that Zimmer was wrong. Vividly, he suddenly recalled the Premier lashing them all about jeopardising the government’s chances for a third term in office.

  Meadows pointed to the door. ‘Dictate your resignation to Celia, out there, then get out of my sight. Be out of your office by close of business today. And, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll resign; not just your position as Minister, but from government and from the Party. Now get out!’ All colour had drained from Meadows’ face. He didn’t need a Royal Commission or police enquiry to know the truth. Zimmer’s reputation was flawless and Aldrittson’s immediate physical and verbal responses were all the confirmation he needed. Meadows was gutted, betrayed and, as for victory in the election, sabotaged. As a politician, he could wheel and deal with the best, he claimed no self righteous purity, but corruption and duplicity of this magnitude was utterly unacceptable.